Thicker Than Water
by repmetsyrrah
Summary: "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb." Sybil Branson survives the birth of her daughter, barely. Tom takes her care into his own hands.
1. Chapter 1

I wrote this almost a year ago but for some reason I let it sit until recently when I shared it with a few people who's responses encouraged me to edit and post it. It's a Sybil lives fic, of course, but the birth itself wasn't entirely AU…

The title of this fic is based on the original proverb too- which has almost the opposite meaning to the one you may be familiar with.

Thanks, as always, to babageneush for the beta.

**Chapter One**

* * *

_"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."_

* * *

In the end Tom Branson had to be physically detached from his wife, and even then it was decided to erect a cot in the corner of the room, rather than attempting to convince the man to leave the hospital.

It was only when Cora had sworn she wouldn't leave Sybil's side that he'd finally slept.

But it was an uneasy sleep. His mind would not calm. He kept seeing her, hearing her screams as her body seized again and again, her desperate sobbing as she begged them to stop the pain, to make it go away.

So many times during the night he had thought he would lose her, that she wouldn't start breathing again, that his small family would be shattered before it had even had a chance to truly begin.

She had slipped in and out of reality, sometimes asking after the baby and at others, wondering out loud why 'Branson' was in her room.

Those moments had hurt, when she had looked at him with only fleeting recognition, instead seeking comfort with Cora or Mary. But far worse had been watching her struggling to hold on to life. When she would convulse so violently she was often unable to breathe, when Tom would hold her hand so tight, as if he could hold her there with him.

Somehow though, through a miracle or divine intervention, the seizures had slowed, her breathing had evened and they had been able to transport her to hospital. Tom still holding her, unable to let go.

He woke more than once from the memories, trying and failing each time to find a dreamless sleep.

Eventually he admitted defeat and he simply lay awake, watching her chest rise and fall, praying it would still be doing so when the sun came up.

* * *

The morning crept in tentatively, as if it was afraid of disturbing the fragile calm that had settled in Sybil Branson's room.

Tom shifted the small bundle he was holding and slowly stood. Stretching his stiff muscles while being careful not to wake the tiny life in his arms. He'd retrieved her from the room next door sometime after he'd woken.

The nurse had protested but Tom hadn't been able to bear their separation any longer. He wanted to spend all the time he could with his family, after he'd been so terrified he would lose it.

Despite his best effort the small thing began to wake and Tom watched in rapt fascination as a tiny hand worked its way from the blanket and waved in the air. Two of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen blinked open slowly and stared up at him.

"Hello, love," he whispered reverently. "I'm your Da."

She blinked again before opening her perfectly formed mouth and letting out a small cry.

"Are you hungry, my darling?" Tom asked softly, knowing she must be. "This is your Ma, you know." He turned her to so she could see Sybil's sleeping face. "She can't feed you right now but she would if she could. She loves you so much already. We both do."

He closed his eyes then, trying to stop his tears from escaping. This wasn't how he'd imagined their first day as a new family.

His daughter gave another cry, louder and more insistent and Tom couldn't help giving a small chuckle. It seemed newborns had no interest in quiet, touching moments with their new parents either.

He found the wet-nurse, a lovely woman who'd come at such short notice last night, waiting in the room beside Sybil's, her own son sleeping in a cot in the corner.

"Time for breakfast?"

"I think so."

Mrs. Rose smiled and gently lifted the girl from her father's arms. Tom waited a moment but once she settled down and started to undo her blouse he left. He was grateful to Mrs. Rose, beyond words, but it was hard to watch another woman feeding his child.

He returned to Sybil's room to find Cora waking from where she'd fallen asleep in the chair.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologised quietly but Tom shook his head.

"It's okay," he assured her. "The baby was hungry."

Cora nodded and was about to reply when Dr. Clarkson opened the door and leaned in. "His Lordship is here with Ladies Mary and Edith and Mr. Matthew."

Tom felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach at the mention of Lord Grantham but found no doubts in his conscience as to what he was about to do. Together with Cora he exited Sybil's room and went to the waiting room to face her family.

"Robert." Cora's greeting contained none of her usual warmth as they entered and Tom allowed himself a small moment of hope that she might share his feelings. Though it wouldn't matter if she didn't.

"We came to see Sybil," Lord Grantham told them, nodding in greeting.

"No."

Everyone stopped and stared at Tom, who had uttered the single word so firmly and clearly there was no doubt as to his meaning.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No," Tom repeated, "you won't see her."

"I don't understand." Lord Grantham looked so completely confused Tom almost hit him. Mary, Matthew and Edith were also looking at him in shock but they weren't his worry right now. He could deal with them later.

For now, he had to somehow not murder his father-in-law.

"I'll put it simply then," Tom snapped. "She almost died because of you," he reminded the other man, unable to stop now he had started. "She is in here because you refused to listen to anyone without a title. Everything she went through last night was because you valued a knighthood over her health, over the health of our child. You valued Tapsell's title over her life."

"She survived," Lord Grantham pointed out.

"So we should just forget how you almost killed her?" Tom asked, stepping towards the Earl, his hands shaking with rage.

"Tom, surely-" Matthew started but broke off when his brother-in-law simply shook his head before returning his attention to Lord Grantham.

"How could you watch her scream in pain for a whole night, knowing it was your fault and think I'd let you anywhere near her?"

"I am her father-"

"And I'm her husband!" Tom stepped forward, his voice louder than Lord Grantham's. "And I say you can't see her."

"What about what Sybil wants? She-"

"She's in a fucking coma, she can't want anything right now," Tom reminded him, his voice ringing off the walls. "When she wakes up- whatever she wants. But until then she is in my care and you will not go anywhere near her."

Robert shot a furious glare in Dr. Clarkson's direction, as if the entire thing was his fault. "I want to see my daughter," he told the man firmly.

"I'm sorry Lord Grantham," Dr. Clarkson said, not sounding so at all. "But Mr. Branson is Lady Sybil's next of kin. Until she is awake and of sound mind it is the hospital rules that he has the final word in her care."

"Thank God someone remembers that," Tom muttered. "If you'd thought of that last night she might have been fine but now-" he broke off, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he fought to retain his composure and not break in front of this man who could have been the one to sign Sybil's death warrant.

"I took a vow," he said softly, but with such hatred behind it that made Robert step back. "Before God, to love her and care for her and if that means keeping her away from you and away from that place-" he stabbed a finger in the direction of the house that had almost been Sybil's deathbed- "then I will see to it that you will never go near her so long as I have breath in my body. Her or our daughter."

Tom's words settled over the room with a finality that left space for nothing but silence from the other occupants. The argument was over.

Tom moved to return to his wife's side but turned back as he remembered something.

"Oh, and you'd better find a way to get Sir fucking Tapsell back to London carefully because if I ever lay eyes on him again he'll wish he'd never been born."

And with that, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, thanks so much for all the lovely reviews on the first chapter! I'm so glad people are liking this story so much, you guys are awesome. Here's the next one.

Thanks to babageneush for the beta.

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Lord Grantham woke in his dressing room, the memories of the previous day flooding his mind.

He was a grandfather.

But far from the joy such an event was supposed to bring, it had only brought pain and anger.

Despite his reservations, and despite the father, this was still Sybil's child and he had been looking forward to meeting it. Everything had been going so well, then, in a moment, it had all fallen apart.

It had been hell, that night.

Branson acted as if he had been the only one crying as he watched her screaming in pain. As if he didn't care.

He was her _father_. Of course he had hurt.

He hadn't meant for any of it. If he had known- and there was no way he could have- but if he _had_ known, of course he would have listened to Dr. Clarkson. He would have done _anything_ to spare his daughter that.

But what had happened, had happened. Now all he could do was try and repair the damage Branson was causing to his family.

With that in mind, he got out of bed and rang the bell, Thomas appearing shortly after.

"Any news from the hospital?" he asked, as they began the morning routine, wondering just how much of Branson's rant had gotten back to the staff.

"None that I've heard, milord," Thomas replied, his tone a little too even.

Of course they knew.

He didn't speak again as Thomas finished dressing him.

He passed Cora's room on the way downstairs, not ready yet to revive the argument that had seen him banished to the dressing room to start with.

However, his desire to avoid a reminder of just how few people respected him lately was to go unfulfilled.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking in dismay at the pile of suitcases that had suddenly appeared in the entrance hall.

"I've invited Tom to stay at Crawley House while Sybil's in the hospital," Isobel told him, without a hint of shame, as she came down the stairs followed by his footman and his heir. "Alfred and Matthew were just helping me move his things."

Robert stared at both of them in disbelief. "You agree with this?" he asked his son-in-law, hoping there was some sort of joke he was missing.

"I agree we need to give him time," Matthew said slowly. "I can't imagine what the poor fellow is going through. Once things are better, maybe."

"Of course," Robert repeated, wondering just how much of his family the chauffeur intended on taking from him. "Maybe."

* * *

She hadn't woken.

Dr. Clarkson was checking on her every hour and told Tom every time that nothing had gotten worse. Tom couldn't help notice he never said she was getting better either.

He wandered, a lost soul drifting between the nursery and Sybil's bedside, feeling helpless at both. Unable to provide for either his wife or his daughter he was forced to rely on Mrs. Rose and the nurses to feed his daughter and take care of his wife.

Breakfast was forced on him by one of the nurses, who stood over him until he'd eaten at least half. He'd refused any more, certain he couldn't stomach it. As midday neared he was worried he'd be subject to another course of what passed for food here but he was sitting by Sybil's bedside, letting his mind wander, when a voice prodded him back to reality.

"I brought some soup."

He looked up, blinking as the room came back into view.

"I think I was asleep."

"I think you might have been," Mrs. Crawley agreed with a smile. "But I won't apologise for waking you. You do need to eat. Though I'm afraid my new cook isn't quite as good as Mrs. Bird was."

"That's alright," Tom said, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"I've moved all your things into Matthew's old room. It's a queen bed so if Sybil wants to stay there when she leaves there'll be no need to move around."

"Thank you." The words weren't enough to express his gratitude but he was too exhausted to try harder. "But I want to stay here until she's awake."

Mrs. Crawley nodded. "Of course. Tell me what you need and I'll bring it down for you."

"I'm not sure," Tom admitted "A spare change of clothes. Paper too… I should write to my family."

"I'll bring some down. I can post them tomorrow if you'd like."

"Thank you."

She nodded and unwrapped the soup from the towel she had put it in to keep it warm. She pressed it into his hands with a smile and Tom blinked up at her.

"Mrs. Crawley?"

"Isobel, please," she corrected him.

He nodded.

"I want to ask you something but I hope you won't find me rude."

"Of course not," she assured him.

Tom frowned, unsure how to phrase his question. After a moment his tiredness won out and he asked it simply. "Why are you being so kind to me?"

Isobel smiled, moving to sit in the chair Cora had briefly left unoccupied. "Mr. Crawley and I were only blessed with one child," she told him. "And I do love Matthew dearly, with all my heart. But I won't deny that in many ways I've come to consider Sybil as the daughter I never had."

Tom nodded. He had expected the words but he was still glad to hear them. Sybil spoke so highly of Mrs. Crawley- Isobel- and it gave him great comfort to hear the feelings returned.

"Sybil admires you very much," he told her. "And you have been so good to us. Even before-" he stopped, unsure of what to say but the meaning was clear.

"Thank you." Isobel reached out and placed her hand on his for a moment, the gesture conveying things her words failed to.

"You don't mind standing against Lord Grantham?" Tom asked after while.

"I'm not standing against him," Isobel said, shaking her head. "I'm standing for what I believe to be right. If he's against that, then that's up to him."

"You do live in his house," Tom reminded her.

"I can move."

Tom nodded, and reached for her hand again and this time they didn't let go. Taking strength from the touch and sharing the burden of fearing for the woman who still lay unconscious in the bed beside them.

* * *

"You'll let us know when she wakes?" Mary asked softly as she and Matthew prepared to leave.

Tom nodded. "Of course," he assured her, following them into the hallway. "Dr. Clarkson seemed more optimistic the last time he came around."

"I don't suppose you'd reconsider letting Papa come by?"

Tom felt his fists clench unconsciously at the mention of the man and his face clearly reflected his anger as Mary and Matthew both looked down, rightfully ashamed to have even mentioned that man in front of him.

"If Sybil wants to see him when she wakes up, he'll be welcome," he told them. "Until then he'll not come near her. Not while I'm alive."

"Surely-"

"Mary," Matthew interrupted her quietly, laying a hand on her arm, "it's not for us to argue."

Tom bit back sharp words of agreement. No, it wasn't up to them at all.

Mary and Matthew had been among those to keep him in the dark, perhaps not actively as Lord Grantham had, but they had known there were problems and neither had told him.

But they had fought for him during that long night, Mary never leaving Sybil's side, helping him comfort her when he was a stranger to her. Matthew had taken control of everything else; organising the servants to bring wet towels and anything else they needed to make Sybil comfortable, preparing the car to take her and the baby to the hospital.

He knew one day he would confront them over why they hadn't thought to tell him they knew Sybil was in trouble. But not today.

"I'll call you when she's better," he told them, by way of a dismissal. They nodded and turned to leave as Tom returned to his wife's side.

She looked better, he knew he wasn't imagining it now.

He knew now that she would wake, just as he'd known that night that something was wrong. At least now he was informed. At Downton every time he looked to anyone for answers then, he had been lied to, told it was normal. Only when it was too late had anyone bothered to let him know of the conversations that had been held behind his back. Conversations regarding the health and wellbeing of _his_ wife, _his_ child.

He had never been more terrified in his life. When she had screamed in pain, and beat her head with her hands, begging him, anyone, to make it stop. When she'd called him Branson and-

_No._

He wouldn't dwell on those memories.

She was here now, with him. Away from that place and a father who cared more about the feelings of a fellow aristocrat than the life of his daughter.

He knew it would hurt her to hear, when she woke. But he knew now she deserved the truth. He'd never told her about her father's attempt at bribery in an effort to protect her, to preserve her relationship with her family, but he was passed that now. This was her life at stake and she deserved to know what had truly happened the night she had almost lost it bringing their daughter into the world.

A voice broke into his thoughts. Quiet and uncertain but the only voice he'd wanted to hear for two days.

"Tom?"

He was by her side in an instant. The joy of seeing her awake after what felt like an eternity was almost overwhelming.

"Tom, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice still weak.

Tom laughed through his tears as he picked up her hand and kissed it, holding it to his lips like he'd never let go.

"Oh, my darling," he gasped, unable to manage anything else just yet. "Oh, Thank God."


End file.
